


99 Problems (But a Kaiju Ain't One)

by Juulna



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Closed Triad, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Getting Together, Jaegers (Pacific Rim), Jaegers and Kaiju in the MCU, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), Kicking Kaiju Ass, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Steve and Bucky go down together in the Valkyrie, Tags May Change, The Drift (Pacific Rim), They also defrost earlier, Threesome - M/M/M, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension, everyone's got issues, stuckony - Freeform, tony is still iron man, winterironshield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juulna/pseuds/Juulna
Summary: In 2002, the first Kaiju rise up from the depths. Soon after, Stark Industries -- led by Howard Stark and his son, Tony -- creates the first Jaeger. The tide shifts, yet the Kaiju evolve to match.In 2004, Steve and Bucky wake from the wreckage of the Valkyrie. Not knowing what else to do, they join the fight yet again and a new legend is born. But then Bucky falls from their Jaeger during battle, leaving Steve to feel the echoes of his death in the Drift, lost and susceptible to memories which are not his. Not long after, the Winter Soldier is born, Howard Stark dies, and Tony Stark becomes Iron Man.Five years later, three men whose lives have been torn to pieces are thrown together without their consent -- but whoreallycontrols one's own life in these dark days of war?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for taking the time to check this out. I've always loved Steve/Bucky/Tony and Pacific Rim, and so I've always wanted to merge the two. I just never got around to it... until now! And oh _man_ I have so much to share about this! I suppose it will have to wait as I slowly reveal the story to you. :)
> 
> So, I can't promise regular updates (I have some bad chronic health issues, especially in my hands), but I can promise that I will try very hard to update both this and my other Stuckoni (yes, fem!Tony) soulmate fic, Hanging From a Cross of Iron, as often as I can. I know it's been a while, but I am really excited about this so I know that will help spur me on! I really just want to start writing again, so I can be happy again, y'know? So I'm going to aim to write regularly, but with no set schedule, if that makes sense. Let's just call it a part of my physiotherapy. :P
> 
> Anyway! Here's my fic! Please consider feeding your author (and her kickass beta, Annaelle). xoxo

Tony landed on the airstrip outside of the Anchorage Shatterdome, setting his suit down between the cargo containers belonging to him. He’d sent them by air—even if naval cargo ships weren’t slower, the Kaiju threat had forced almost every last ship off of the Pacific Ocean, as well as many other bodies of water across the world, large or small, simply out of paranoia—so that they could be here in advance of him. It looked like some of them had already started to be unpacked, which was a good sign, because it also meant that his team and staff had arrived as well.

There was no one he trusted with his things except for his own people, and every last one of them had been _his_ long enough that that trust went as deep as it ever could for someone like Tony Stark. Rhodey wouldn’t be here for another few days, but those few others who were his… his lab couldn’t be in better hands.

He reached up and pressed one of the hidden latches that would release his helmet, the _hiss-click_ getting carried away in the wind of the blustery early September evening. He took a moment to look out on the waters of the Gulf of Alaska with his own two eyes, squinting them against the light that was still being thrown by the sinking sun to admire the beauty of the area.

It had been quite some time since he’d last been here. It wasn’t his favorite location—but most of _that_ had to do with the people who populated the Dome rather than the weather or sights surrounding Anchorage. Well, the people from both Science and Engineering Division… He hadn’t really met any of the others in the Domes around the world—the politicking and sales and optics had always been for Howard and Obadiah to deal with.

Since his father’s death four years ago, and… _Stane’s_ shortly after, it had fallen on Tony’s shoulders, who had quickly shunted it onto wonderful, sweet, and _stubborn as hell_ Pepper, and Tony had been able to avoid interacting with almost anyone he didn’t want to. Unfortunately, sometimes there were just things Pepper couldn’t handle, and Tony had to relocate himself to deal with the issues, such as upgrades and experimental tech… or when one of your father’s former colleagues kept badgering you and badgering you until you found some way to make it look like it was _your_ idea to move all the way out into the middle of nowhere.

At least it was lovely here. And there was no sand. A _definite_ plus. Honestly, it was one of the more beautiful Shatterdomes; inside, outside, and the surrounding areas all included. A work of art both natural and technological.

Amazing what one could do with government money in out-of-the-way places.

Too bad this government money came in the form of S.H.I.E.L.D. and its Director, Nick Fury. Seemed like he couldn’t escape his father, no matter how hard he tried. But, he supposed, he’d probably have to win the damn Kaiju War in order to escape practically three quarters of all things Howard.

Well, nobody could say that Tony Stark wasn’t ever up for a challenge.

But first thing first… he needed to figure out what the hell Nick Fury and his partners wanted with him. Something beyond the obvious, because there was nothing obvious about him, Coulson, or Hill.

At least he’d been planning on making an extended visit to the Anchorage Dome for the last little while. Fury’s machinations had given him a good reason to stop by and work on upgrades, even try out that new Jaeger idea he’d based off of one of the older models taking up space in the Anchorage hangar.

He’d do his thing, pretend he wasn’t keeping an eye on Fury—well, he’d at least _try_ to… no promises—watch his back, and keep contingencies in place.

Because, well, he had a damn _war_ to win.

Starks may have become crazy good at keeping wars going, but this was one Stark who would end a war with _great fucking prejudice_.

“Mr. Stark,” a voice called out to him, cutting into his thoughts as much as it cut through the sound of the strong wind.

Tony looked towards where the voice was coming from, and couldn’t quite decide on whether he should smile or frown at the sight of who had been assigned to greet him.

“Coulson,” he greeted, settling for a quirk of his lips as he strode towards the other man. The sound of the wind was loud but not nearly loud enough to wash away the satisfying sound of the armor’s boots _thump_ ing across the concrete of the airstrip. He pulled the helmet of his suit fully away from his head, settling it against his left hip with his left arm and resolving to work on the fully-retractable helmet for the Mark VIII. “How’s the cellist doing?”

Coulson raised an eyebrow at him, but there was the slightest hint of an uptick at the corner of his mouth. “You leant us your private jet,” he replied dryly, answering the question with a deflection, refusing to divulge anything more than what he wished to, and only when he wished it.

Good to see Coulson never changed, at least.

“It was picking up dust, Agent. You know it, I know it—it may as well have been put to good use.” Tony gestured dismissively with one gauntleted hand.

Coulson inclined his head just a fraction, face smoothing out once again as a group of airmen passed them by. There didn’t seem to be any privacy in the future, Tony could see as he eyed the increasingly crowded space on the way towards the hangar, so it didn’t surprise him in the least when Coulson murmured, “She and I both send our thanks,” and left it at that before starting into what they were both there for.

Well. Tony wasn’t _entirely_ sure what exactly he was there for, but he was sure Coulson knew, so that would serve them well enough for the time being—until Tony could hack Fury’s system or annoy him half to death until he acquiesced and just came right out and _told_ Tony what the hell he wanted him there for.

Until then, well, spies would always be spies.

“How long has it been since you’ve last been to the Shatterdome, Mr. Stark?” Coulson queried as he pressed his palm to the biometric lock on the smaller door recessed into the larger— _much_ larger—hangar bay doors. He turned around just in time to catch the raised eyebrow Tony was giving him, and smirked just the _tiniest_ bit in return.

Honestly, from Coulson that was as much of a win as he’d ever get.

“You know very well it’s been over five months, and even then I was only here for, what, twenty minutes?” He shook his head when Coulson gestured towards a lockbox large enough to fit his suit, comfortable enough with wearing it as long as it would take to put it away for real in the lab.

“You were on the phone with Ms. Potts the entire time, if I do recall.”

Of course he recalled, the jerk.

Tony narrowed his eyes just a little bit, but before he could say anything, Coulson headed him off with a, “Well, a lot has changed since then, which means it’s been at least three years since you’ve seen the interior of the Dome.”

And then they were passing through the second hangar door and into the Jaeger bay itself, and Tony completely forgot what he was going to say, mind unnaturally still for one moment before it burst back into multiple trains of thought all at once, once again.

The bay was _beautiful_. The Jaegers were… Christ, whatever they’d done to them made them look sleek and gorgeous and refined and elegant and _oh boy_ , he just couldn’t wait to see what was under the hood, so to speak. His fingers itched to get into them, onto the cool metal of the Jaeger closest to him, and hopefully they hadn’t butchered his coding he _swore to God_ after the last time they were through if they had and he actually _kind of_ liked these bastards when all was said and done, much better than the San Francisco Dome, and—

“ _T’Challa actually let you have vibranium_?” he practically squeaked, jumping out of the suit and throwing it into sentinel mode as he threw himself up the nearest scaffolding staircase and towards the nearest place he could actually lay his hands against the rare, cool to the touch metal.

“Oh my _God,_ what did you use to blackmail him?” he yelled over his shoulder as he climbed under the railing and right onto the boot of the Jaeger itself, completely ignoring the disgruntled looks techs and engineers were shooting him. “He wouldn’t even let me play with it last time I asked!”

He pressed his bare hands to the metal, relishing in the coolness of the metal beneath his fingers, the coolness he’d known would be greater than any other metal in these conditions based on the last time he’d laid his hands on it—quite some time ago, truth be told.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Coulson’s voice came from far closer—just on the other side of the railing from him—than where it had last been. “Do you truly think we could find something on the King of Wakanda and have it stick? No, he’s too much Earth’s darling at this moment.” Tony didn’t take his eyes off the dark blue-grey metal beneath his fingers even as he released a snort of amusement.

True. Definitely true.

“And for another thing,” Coulson continued, “he is only _loaning_ it to us. We’ve worked out an agreement, and a specialized contract details a specified few who are the only ones who can deal with its shaping, repair, and handling in other special circumstances.”

Tony finally looked over his shoulder at Coulson. “Is that why Fury wants me here?”

“Not quite, Mr. Stark, though that is _one_ of the things he would like to speak with you about.”

Tony hummed noncommittally, setting aside for later the answer to whether that would be enough to get him to stay—even though he was pretty sure there was a hell of a lot he could put up with if just to play with vibranium for a few _hours_ , let alone weeks or months or…

Later.

“We can discuss it later,” Coulson added, stepping back and indicating with an economy of movement that Tony should follow him back down the scaffolding and stairs.

See? Even he and Agent could agree on things once in a while.

Once they were back on the floor of the hangar, Tony took the chance to take a proper look around, channeling his thoughts into observing as many details at once instead of haring off in a single direction at a billion miles a minute.

It was… well, it had changed a _lot_. And it was even more impressive a sight to see, as much as he wished he didn’t have to say that about Fury’s Dome.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., bring the suit back to the lab, will you?” he directed absently to the suit, eyes already taking in what he had missed when he’d made a beeline towards the nearest Jaeger a short time ago.

It really _had_ been quite some time since he’d spent much time here in this Dome. Well, really much time since he’d spent time in most of the Domes. Ever since Afghanistan, he’d thrown himself right back into the Research  & Development department of his company, rather than go right back to trying to run the company as CEO like he’d been trying to do for the few months between his father’s death and his... kidnapping. Instead, he’d let his insanely competent Pepper continue to do so—after he’d taken out the trash, of course.

Sure, his company was still the leader in Jaeger tech. Sure, all of the Jaegers needed to be maintained, and maintained _properly_ —but there were mechanics and engineers and people actually trained for that. Who wanted to put up with Tony Stark and his infinite amount of issues when they would do just fine with someone much easier to handle? And why would Tony want to deal with _them_ when he didn’t have to; when he could just spend his time with his head in his lab or in the clouds? He kept an eye on things—no sense repeating the same mistake as had happened with Stane, though it wasn’t like he really thought Pepper was like that…

Well. He hadn’t thought Stane was like that _either_.

Point being… it had been a long time since he’d really interacted with the people who _used_ his tech. That had been his father’s job, and now it was Pepper’s.

It was even larger than he last remembered it being; they’d obviously expanded it, and by a factor of three at least. The hangar looked almost like it went on for _miles_ , only able to do so because of the large support towers holding up the arch of the ceiling far, _far_ above them, and latticed girders probably as large as a Jaeger finger around.

Six Jaeger bays took prominent position in the hangar, the original four and then two more which had obviously been added when they’d torn out the back wall and expanded. Permanent and articulated walkways were built into the bays surrounding the Jaegers, all of which were in use since Jaegers required almost near-constant repairs, checks, and rechecks. The bulk of the extra space that had been added to the hangar housed what looked to be storage filled with stockpiles of extra parts, much of it ready to go—wasn’t government money _great_ sometimes?—and a state of the art gym and range encased in soundproof glass that took up the whole back part of the hangar, on top of which, near the very top of the hangar, was a brand-spanking-new LOCCENT. Of course Command had new digs as well.

There even seemed to be a… was that a fully-articulated Jaeger simulator? Holy _shit_ , it was. Who the hell had built them _that_ , and who did he have to bribe to put it through its paces? He’d been toying with building his own for the last while, but had never quite gotten around to it. There always seemed to be something else that needed doing.

Okay. _Okay_ , staying here for a little while might not be quite as bad as he’d thought. All this would make dealing with Fury worth it— _shit_ , why’d he have to go and tempt fate like that—and he might even get out of the lab once in a while, at this rate.

He’d have to put up with _people_ , but it wasn’t like he couldn’t just whip out his press persona and let that carry him for the few weeks he’d be here, tops.

Or he could just ignore them like he’d been doing to Coulson. Oops. “Sorry Agent, got a little lost in the moment there.” He shot a smile at Coulson, but the man only blinked at him. He’d become all too familiar with Tony’s nature in the months following his return from Afghanistan.

Worked for him.

It was just the rest of them who’d have to learn how to deal with him.

Suddenly realizing how absolutely _surrounded_ by people he was, Tony longed for the cool quiet of the lab that awaited him. The sounds of Jaeger maintenance was loud in the hangar, but he could still hear and _feel_ the thrum of the literal thousands of voices who shared the space with him. It was a little much to deal with at the moment, especially when he knew he still needed to speak to Fury.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Lead the way, and let’s see what you lot want.”

Coulson looked at him just a little too knowingly, but kept his silence—and didn’t that speak volumes, too—as he turned and started to walk for one of the elevators a few dozen yards to their left. They easily wove through and around people, carts, trolleys, and even a few children, cats, and dogs—what the _hell_?—and into the elevator. Even inside, Tony could hear the voices and sounds of the hangar, but at least when the doors opened on the top level, the sound was a hell of a lot more muted.

There weren’t as many people in the long and pristine hallway that led towards the Director’s office, thank God. Or rather, the _Directorship’s_ office, because although Fury was on paper the head of the Shatterdome, it was all three of them—Fury, Coulson, and Hill—who shared the position in reality. Even _he_ knew that, and he was rarely ever here. What no one really knew was exactly what went on behind closed doors, but Tony wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know. All people knew for a fact was that they were three former co-pilots who had then become heads of one of the most efficient and powerful Shatterdomes—and a government spy agency on _top of that_ , as if that weren’t enough—and they were scarily proficient.

Tony knew a little bit more about them than most others who didn’t work with them on a regular basis, and he knew enough to _suspect_ what the Directorship—and Fury in particular—wanted from him, but even so, he knew he’d have to keep his guard up at all times around the three of them together. Coulson by himself was a different story, but he liked to think they were sort of friends, at least.

Fury and Hill, though? Nope. Not in this lifetime.

So as Coulson opened the door to his— _their_ —office, Tony Stark made sure he was prepared for anything.

Anything… except for this.

Anything, any _one_ , except for the man whom his father had idolized, the man whom his father had compared Tony’s every move, action, thought, and word against—the man whom his father had loved more than his own flesh and blood, who seemed to fail him at every turn.

Anyone except for the man whom Tony had been dead set on avoiding at all costs for the entire length of his stay, however long that may be. The man whom he’d been avoiding for every single one of the seven years since he’d come out from the ice.

 _Anyone_ except for Captain _fucking_ America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll get some more backstory from Steve's PoV. I've altered the timeline in the MCU a decent amount, but I promise I'll make sure it becomes clear as we go. And if it isn't, please feel absolutely free to ask me questions and I'll answer them as best I can! 
> 
> Much love, and until next time. <3


	2. Chapter 2

Cold.

He was so cold. And yet he was warm at the same time, sunlight on his face and flashing into his eyes from where it reflected off of the metal and glass surrounding him. He shivered even as sweat rolled down his forehead, over his temples, and dripping off of the point of his chin.

Rain.

It was raining, even though there was sunlight. A sun shower? No… no, it was mist rising up from the ocean surrounding—

Surrounding his Jaeger.

Why was there sunlight and misting water inside his Conn-Pod?

He looked to the left, startled to see a gaping hole taking up nearly two thirds of the Conn-Pod— _how_ had he missed that?—with wires dangling everywhere, shorn off, sparks flying, hydraulic fluid dripping and then being washed away by the accumulating mist.

What? What was going—

Bucky.

Bucky was…

And that’s when he knew he was dreaming. That’s when Steve Rogers knew that he was in the grips of an oh so familiar nightmare; one that wouldn’t leave him alone for the life of him, and which he could never seem to escape, no matter how hard he tried.

Bucky was gone, he was _dead_ , and Steve had to relive it constantly.

One would think that once he recognized this nightmare as exactly that, that he’d be able to pull himself out of it with a simple thought—it was something that his mother had always told him as a child, and for some it seemed to work.

One would also think that since he was so successful within the Drift, so successful at maintaining contact with his partner, with not chasing the R.A.B.I.T., that even in sleep he would be able to remove his mind from any nightmare it wished to. That he could sleep dream- and nightmare-free as often as he wished.

Hah. No.

Just because he could ride the Drift as easy as he could breathe, just because he had trained in it for years, trained his mind to obey him, didn’t mean he was more capable of escaping a nightmare than he’d ever been. In fact… Steve thought that perhaps the Drift—being _able_ to Drift—was what was keeping him trapped here. That the vivid memory recall of the neural handshake and subsequent long periods of Drifting together in your partner’s mind, memories, and thoughts was what made it easier for his mind to dream so vividly, and to trap him within.

Whereas before dreams and nightmares has been easy for his enhanced body to recall, now they were vivid… a curse. Something inescapable, where before he’d been able to set aside the memories and dreams if he so wished.

But now he didn’t think he’d ever be able to escape.

Now he was forced to endure watching his best friend, the man who had been on the verge of becoming more to him… now he had to watch his best friend die, night after night, in vivid detail, every single piece in place, just as it had played out that fateful day.

At least this time he’d become aware of being trapped in a dream after the fall itself—not like he couldn’t remember every detail of the event explicitly, in any event. _Fuck_ , could he remember it. The feeling of helplessness as Bucky’s gloved hand began to slip from where it was gripped around his wrist, as it slid lower and lower until finally they were holding on just by each other’s fingertips, desperately trying to grab more of a hold on each other…

Steve had been the only mooring available to Bucky, everything else ripped out of the Jaeger’s Conn-Pod by the Kaiju, and Steve… Steve had _failed_.

Bucky’s eyes… he would never forget the look in those eyes as their fingers touched for the last time—through fucking _gloves_ , for Christ’s sake!

The look had been filled with understanding, bravery, and… and forgiveness.

Forgiveness that Steve didn’t deserve, because Steve. had. _failed._

The worst part?

The worst part was that Bucky hadn’t made a fucking _sound_ as he fell.

All Steve had been able to hear, all he could hear now in this dreamscape, was the breaking of the waves against the metal of their Jaeger and the slight hissing of broken pipes and lines surrounding him. Surrounding where _Bucky_ was supposed to be.

A scream torn from the throat of the injured Kaiju doing battle with another Jaeger in _Brooklyn Howler_ ’s place filled Steve’s awareness with both dread and relief. Because what came next… what came next was Bucky’s death, magnified and amplified and _shared_ through the Drift connection they’d shared at the time.

The Drift connection Steve swore he could still _feel_ something of.

Within moments, his whole body seized, and a feeling as if he were being torn apart, atom by atom, consumed him.

There was no more time for thinking.

There was only death.

* * *

 

Steve woke with a scream clenched within his jaw. He’d learned that even his subconscious mind refused to let voice to his torment where others could hear him. Even within the confines of his rather large room, he knew that others would be able to hear through the walls that were just thin enough for louder sounds to be heard by the multitudes traversing nearly every hall of the Shatterdome, at all hours of the day and night. He’d learned to be _careful_ with his grief.

He’d shared enough of Bucky’s death with the public as it were… he didn’t need to share the constant and recurring nightmares with the whole world as well. The entirety of LOCCENT had heard his death, the cameras had captured it from within the Conn-Pod and without, the entire _Dome_ knew before he’d even arrived back to medical, and the entire _world_ within the next half hour. And then there was the public funeral, the memorial, the near-constant interviews and talk shows and articles and letters in the mail and op-eds and the official investigation and review conducted by the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps and just… too much. They had taken _too much_ of his Bucky.

No, they couldn’t have anything more of him. Whatever was left was _Steve’s_. The small, small part of him that was left within his mind, nothing else, not even a body to go vis—

 _“Fuck!_ ” Steve shouted, throwing his blankets off and throwing himself from off of his bed, dressed in the same clothes as he’d come in with last night. Sweat dripped off his brow and flicked from the tips of his hair as he shook on the ground on his hands and knees, trying his best to get his breathing back under control.

He’d been recalled from his mission a whole day and night earlier than expected—they’d still had time left on the Breach Event countdown, but apparently there was someone arriving whom the Directorship had wanted him to meet. Someone who had changed their arrival date at the last moment. The Directorship had given no other info than that, but obviously the person was important if they were calling him back to personally meet with. His mission wasn’t an especially important one, but the mere fact that he’d had to leave Natasha and Clint behind to complete the remainder of the mission on their own was something rather… unusual. Outside the norm.

Something to be wary of.

So he’d arrived late last night—Sam having been sent to get him quickly back to the Dome, so at least it was a pleasant trip home with someone who actually treated him like a _human_ and not a goddamn legend even after seven years working alongside him—and had then promptly fallen asleep, tac gear and all. Even his shield hadn’t made it to its stand. It was nestled between his bed and the end table where it must have fallen from his grip after he’d thrown himself in bed, but at least he could concentrate on the familiar red, white, and blue pattern to help calm his mind.

Perhaps the clothes he’d been wearing—similar in many ways to the suit he wore in the Jaeger’s Conn-Pod—had been what had set off his nightmare… who was he kidding? He’d never been able to piece together a pattern as to what made his nightmares worse or better or disappear at all. They came whenever they wished, lasted however long they wished, and hurt him just as much as they wished.

He’d stopped trying to vie for control of them long ago, accepting them in some way—yes, knowing that was quite fucked up, thank you very much—as his due for letting Bucky die. For letting him fall from his grasp into the heaving depths of the ocean.

Sighing, Steve set the last dregs of the memories, the nightmare, aside—suppressing the guilt at how much more quickly he was able to be rid of them these days than in the past—and started to move on with his day.

There was no sense in dwelling on something he couldn’t change.

At least, that’s what the therapist had told him… when he’d gone. He hadn’t gone back a single time after the psychologist cleared him for active duty once more. It was his choice. He was _fine_.

He ignored the voice that was clear as day inside his mind, the one that sounded just like Bucky did inside the Drift, telling him he was being an absolute _idiot_.

Shoving _that_ aside as well, Steve went about his day. Or, at least, as much of his normal day as he could get before he was called to his meeting.

He gave his shield a brief brush of his fingers, and then rose to his feet.

It wasn’t quite 0500 but he shucked his grimy clothes with gritted teeth, stepping into the shower and dialing it as hot as he could stand it—anything to get rid of the chill of the Arctic from _two_ separate occasions—and thanking God once again for whoever’s brilliant idea it was to set them up with as much green technology and systems as they could, years before the private market had really even started to turn that way. Geo-thermal heating, cold water dispersion and filtering from the cold ocean around them, even one of Howard’s industrial arc reactors—the only one being used outside of a Stark Industries factory, at least at the time—and a number of other systems that he still didn’t quite know the names for. It hadn’t exactly been at the top of his list of priorities.

All that mattered was that he could have as many endless hot showers as he wanted. An absolute _luxury,_ especially for times like these.

Forty minutes later he had washed, shaved, combed his hair, and put on his uniform—not something he normally wore, but apparently this was an important meeting, and he’d likely not have any time to run back and change out of his daily wear if things went like they did with being recalled early from his mission. He let himself out of his room and locked the thick metal door behind him, then made his way to the mess hall to grab a quick bite to eat. Earlier than usual for him, but he was foregoing his normal crack-of-dawn run and workout for whoever this bigshot was. Wouldn’t do to make a poor, sweaty impression, now would it?

He nodded hello to Darcy and Loki where they were sitting at a table just inside the entrance to the mess. They had their heads pressed close together, murmuring quietly to each other, and he raised a brow at them as he came to a halt moments after Darcy waved him over. Loki sat back, expressionless as was his wont, but Darcy was all mischievous smiles and way too much cheer for her usual at this time of the morning.

He’d have to keep an eye out for trouble, it would seem, he thought with a surprising flash of good humor.

“Hey Steve, we weren’t expecting to see you until tomorrow afternoon. Mission go alright?” Darcy greeted him, even as Loki only nodded at him. Her brows drew down and she darted a glance behind him, obviously looking for Natasha and Clint. “Are Nat and the birdbrain doing okay?”

Steve smiled at her. Her concern for everyone she saw as ‘hers’ was always quite touching, at least to him. “Yeah Darce, they’re good. I just got called back early to talk to somebody with the Directorship—”

“One Anthony Edward Stark, I presume?” Loki drawled.

“I—” Steve paused for a moment. “I don’t know. They didn’t say. Why would you think it’s him?”

Loki gave one of his grins that reminded everyone, including Steve, _way_ too much of a shark. “Well, the shipping containers which are keyed to his own personal codes are _one_ indicator.”

“Loki!” Darcy gasped, and Steve wasn’t quite sure if she was pretending her shock or not. Sometimes it was really hard to tell with the woman as she had a penchant for the theatrical. “Don’t tell me you… oh come _on_.” Steve thought she looked _far_ too diabolical as she grinned at Loki.

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” The Asgardian looked entirely too smug.

Steve sighed. He interjected before they could get lost in an increasingly convoluted series of plans for mayhem, “Tony Stark is here?”

“Not yet, I don’t think.” Darcy shot a look at Loki, who gave a brief shake of his head. “But my little birds told me he’s due any time today, tomorrow at the latest.”

“You have been watching far too much Game of Thrones, Ms. Lewis,” Loki said in that silky voice Steve had come to associate with him and teasing.

“Oh come on, surely you of all people approve,” Darcy shot back. And before Steve could ask any more questions about their incoming visitor or any other Dome news from the last few days, they were bickering about the finer merits of Baelish and Varys.

Steve rather disliked the both of them. Actually, he disliked pretty much every single character still alive on the show Thor made him watch each year.

What a _depressing_ show.

Speaking of depressing… Steve realized that there was no one else to eat breakfast with—those two were out since he didn’t particularly feel like joining in any Game of Thrones debates this early in the morning… or _ever_ again, really, if last year’s nearly all-out war over the rights and wrongs of Daenerys were any indication. With the queasiness of his nightmare weighing on him, and feeling a little thrown off his normal routine anyway, Steve grabbed an apple and a bran muffin and then wandered off towards LOCCENT, dodging easily and without thought through the throng that was starting to increase in density as the morning bore on.

Perhaps he could slip down to see Loki whip the new pilot cadets into shape at 0700. That was always a hoot.

Throwing himself into paperwork, Steve nearly forgot the entire _topic_ of Tony Stark—it’s not like he wasn’t _important_ , just… not to him, not really—until the very man in question’s voice caught Steve’s attention, _telling_ them that he was coming in to land. _Telling_ , not _requesting_ , like any other aircraft had to do, or risk being shot out of the sky.

Steve grimaced, and realized that that pretty much confirmed the sinking feeling that he’d been working himself towards in his subconscious, which was that his meeting today with the Directorship and an unknown person of importance… was with Tony Stark himself, owner and head of R&D for Stark Industries, both national and international branches.

It wasn’t like he _disliked_ the guy… not truly. He knew that some of the things Howard had said about his son before the former’s death four years ago were to be taken with a grain of salt, and the same with the rumors and reports and the media speculation surrounding the man. He _knew_ that. He’d never met the man in person, always missing him by a narrow margin, and Steve’s ma had always taught him not to let others form his opinion of a person… but for that much to be reported, to be spoken about, to be gossiped about… it _had_ to be true, didn’t it? Some of it, at least.

And then the whole Iron Man thing. Gallivanting around the world like a vigilante, as if it were some grand joke to him, everything he was doing. Everyone he was _killing_. Sure, all in the name of good, all in the name of counterterrorism, all in the name of clearing the world of Stark Industries’ corruption… corruption which had gone on under his nose. Corruption he _should_ have been aware of.

He…

He _really_ should shut the hell up and treat the man with at least a modicum of respect, and let _their_ interactions be what he based his opinions of the man on. And if _that_ didn’t sound like a freakish mix of all three of Bucky’s, ma’s, and Thor’s voices inside his head, he didn’t know _what_ did.

Christ. If only he was _capable_ of being driven to drink.

When Maria caught his eye from across the room, standing in the large entranceway which acted as the gateway in and out of LOCCENT, Steve tried his best to do three things. He tried to center himself, put on his best face, and straighten his uniform as he crossed the room in long, confident strides to join the woman in a silent trek through the halls.

Moments after settling into his seat with a glass of water, the door opened just in front of the guest of the hour, and the first two of his three resolutions flew right out the window after the first four words out of the inventor’s mouth.

_“What. The. Fuck, Fury?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know GoT was only _just_ coming out in 2011, but bear with me! I'm sort of playing with the Time Stone here. ;D
> 
> So... next time we get to see the lovely first meeting between Captain America and Iron Man! Hoo boy... these two. *facepalms* Maybe they'll play nice? Y'never know... :P
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!! Thank you so much to everyone who has kudos'd, reviewed, and even just read this fic! Thank you so much for supporting me. I love you all. <3
> 
> Also, I updated my other Stuckony fic, [Hanging From a Cross of Iron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727852/chapters/26423031)! I'm starting to feel more and more normal mentally, even if physically my body still sucks terribly. I'm just so happy to be writing and posting semi-regularly again. I'll be doing my best to keep that up. :) 
> 
> Take care, everyone. Have a lovely week! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr (@juuls) -- and my beta as well (@cuthian).


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